


Get Back On

by aurumdalseni (kyo_chan)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Feel-good, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, SHEITH - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyo_chan/pseuds/aurumdalseni
Summary: Shiro has had to rebuild everything in his life after a terrifying motorcycle accident. At a point where he thinks things are as good as they'll ever get, he meets a mechanic on campus who's better with machines than people. In spite of that, and all the failed attempts to be close to someone before, Shiro finds himself wanting to get to know Keith better. Maybe this one will end like all the others, but he has to try.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sheith Big Bang on tumblr! This was a collaboration with my wife, and we had a phenomenal artist as well! Get ready for some indulgent first date college AU. My co-writer is Sylvyr and my artist is [Nessie](http://nessielivesinacave.tumblr.com). I hope you enjoy!

_ Shiro woke up. _

_ The ceiling was white. Shiro’s ceiling hadn’t been white since sometime long before his grandmother was a glimmer in someone’s eye, so he was very confused. There was something beeping next to him obnoxiously. He wanted to turn it off, but for some reason, he couldn’t move his arm. _

_ His thoughts moved like molasses through his brain, slow and thick. Every blink took effort, and every breath was accompanied by a distant sort of wheeze. His throat felt raw and he couldn’t swallow. There was pressure on his face, and the rest of his body felt...far away. He blinked again, tried to move his head and realised, slowly, that the motion took far, far more effort than it was worth. _

_ He managed to turn his face a little, his eyes sliding from the absurdly white ceiling to the equally ridiculous spill of white hair next to him.  _

**_Allura_ ** _. _

_ He tried to move his lips to form her name, but something was blocking them. Eventually, Shiro realised there was a tube in his mouth, the reason his throat burned. The realization made the muscles clench in some sort of bizarrely timed panic reaction, and the soft sound he made before he calmed seemed to wake Allura. _

**_She looks awful._ **

_ Her eyes were red, her cheeks tear streaked and creased with lines from the sheets she’d been resting her face against.  _ _ Her eyes widened, and she moved too quickly for him to follow—but it must have been to hit some kind of button; shortly after, there was a mass of people in his room checking the beeping things and charts, and he lost track of it quickly. _

_ At some point in the proceedings, the tube was removed from his throat, and his body tried to convulse and cough. He was physically held down from doing it, distant pain streaking up his spine and making him gasp for air. He could hear Allura’s voice in between the medical jargon, and  _ _ he wanted to tell her it would be okay, to make her less upset. She sounded like she was crying again. _

_ Shiro hated it when she cried; it happened so rarely he was never prepared for it, and it unsettled something inside him when it did. _

_ Slowly, the pain ceased, and Shiro’s head lolled to the side to see a nurse pushing a syringe into his...I...V. _

_ He was in the hospital. _

_ He didn’t remember why. _

_ Eventually, the nurses left, and Allura returned to her position next to his bed. Shiro still couldn’t move his head far; couldn’t move his arm at all. He thought he could flex his toes, but he couldn’t quite see them to check. Alllura looked him over and left the room, only to return with a cup. He hoped it was water. _

_ It was ice, and as it melted in his mouth for several long moments, it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. _ _ Slowly, she fed him the chips until he felt he could speak. Shiro was starting to get worried because he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her so quiet, so...distressed. So fragile. _

_ But then again, he still didn’t know why he was in a hospital to start with, so it was probably pretty bad. Gaps in memory usually were. Or from being really, really good and intoxicated, but he was also pretty sure this wasn’t one of those times, either.  _

_ Once his throat no longer felt like it would shred into a million pieces of fleshy confetti, Shiro carefully managed to lick his lips and make another attempt at speaking. _

_ “...Hey.” _

_ Allura burst into tears.  _

_ Shiro’s eyes widened in panic. There was literally nothing he could do: his body wasn’t answering him and he could only make an inarticulate noise of alarm. _

_ Allura just shook her head, managing a watery smile while she wiped her eyes. “Welcome back.” _

_ Shiro felt his eyebrows furrow as he puzzled out the layers in her voice. “...I was gone?” _

_ She nodded slowly, clearly trying not to panic him with more crying. “A few times, actually.” _

_ Well, that was alarming. Shiro was glad for the drugs running through his system, but he did sort of absently notice that one of the machines was starting to beep more insistently than before. He had a feeling it was his heart monitor, because the idea that he’d  _ **_died_ ** _ a  _ **_few times_ ** _ was a little fucking terrifying, to be honest. _

_ Allura, thankfully, knew him too well to try to calm him before he managed it himself, so the heart monitor slowed as he brought his adrenalin back under control. Not that it really had much of an option, given the metric ass-ton of drugs he was sure were pumping through his bloodstream right now. _

_ He’d  _ **_died_ ** _. _

_ No wonder Allura looked like hell.  _

_ He knew she was watching him, knew the way he’d watch her if she’d been the one in the hospital bed after some sort of acciden-- _

_ Accident.  _

_ He had a flash of bright light, the sensation of near-flight and then...dark. _

_ It had to have been some kind of accident. Which meant… _

_ Carefully, slowly, Shiro shifted his head to look down at himself. _

_ There were tubes he didn’t want to think about, from places he was really glad he couldn’t feel; there were the wires and oxygen, the IV. He was in some sort of horrific hospital gown -- he wondered if Allura had picked out, since it was pink -- and covered in at least two blankets. Just to check, he tried to wiggle his toes and noticed some motion at the other end of the bed, so there was that, at least. His left arm was bruised and bashed and filled with the IV and pulse monitor. He found that he’d been avoiding his right arm and slowly turned his head that way again. _

_ It was bandaged and splinted, covered completely, but what he could see of his fingers wasn’t very promising for what was under those bandages. He had a feeling it would qualify as straight-up body horror. There was something around his body, supporting his ribs, he guessed. And he could see the wider mass of his right thigh that indicated some serious bandages there too. _

_ He was probably lucky to be alive. _

_ Shiro could see the wet gleam of more tears in Allura’s eyes, and he offered her a crooked smile. “Sorry.” _

_ She laughed, watery. “Only you would apologize for nearly  _ **_dying_ ** _ , Shiro.” She shook her head. “You impossible man.” _

_ Shiro tried to shrug and failed, realizing halfway through the motion that it was probably a bad idea. “So...what’s the damage?”  _

_ Allura winced. “Well...you broke your ribs,” she began cautiously. _

_ “Mmhmm.” That would explain the tightness around his body. _

_ “Mild concussion.”  _ **_Yup_ ** _. “Some bruising and mild contusions and scrapes.”  _ **_That too_ ** _. “Your arm...needs some pins.”  _ **_Wait_ ** _ … “And your thigh was crushed.” ... _ **_What?_ **

_ “...Crushed?” Shiro wasn’t sure he wanted to own up to the high pitched tone with which that word was spoken. _

_ Allura winced again. “Yes, Shiro,  _ **_crushed_ ** _.” She looked away. “...That’s where the bike landed.” _

_ Everything went quiet for a moment, both in the room and in Shiro’s head. _

_ “...My bike?” _

_ Allura couldn’t meet his eyes. _

_ “Tell me about my bike, Allura.” _

_ “....Worse than you are, Shiro.” _

_ Shiro swallowed. For some reason, hearing that made it all too real. His foggy, drugged-up mind could barely process the damage to his own body, but knowing that the accident had totalled his motorcycle,  _ **_worse_ ** _ than his body, brought the situation home.  _

_ That bike had been his freedom. His way to fly until he finished his degree and the training to go into space. He’d been planning on becoming an astronaut, going up into the stars and landing on the moon. But this...this changed everything. _

_ The heart monitor went off again. _

~*~

A long silence follows the jangle of bells on the shop door. Keith frowns to himself from underneath the car, straining to hear any footsteps or cheerful greetings from the other students. When nothing comes, he huffs out a sigh and pushes himself out from the undercarriage, balancing his weight to sit up on the creeper and look around. He sees none of the mechanics, but one solitary customer standing at the front desk. That figures. Keith stands up and pulls the towel from his back pocket to wipe oil from his hands. It’s not as effective as it should be, but at least he makes the effort.

The newcomer is at least a head taller than Keith, and broad, too. Keith wonders briefly if he’s faculty, but that doesn’t seem right. Not with the very interested way he’s inspecting the garage and all the gear within it. It figures that the only customer the garage has seen all day shows up when all of the other interns are on break. Mustering up his will to deal with people, Keith approaches.

“Hey,” he says, “can I help you with something?”

“Just need an oil change.” The man turns to look at Keith, and something funny happens to his face. It screws up into surprise and something else Keith can’t identify immediately. The look vanishes into a pleasant smile. “I, uh, don’t really have the setup to do it myself right now.”

That’s simple enough, Keith decides. He can handle this. Perhaps with a minimum of social interaction, too. Oil changes don’t take long, especially not when he’s doing them. To his chagrin, he looks up at the customer, completely incapable of ignoring broad shoulders and the monochrome tones of his tousled undercut. Keith wrinkles his nose, but catches himself quickly so it isn’t mistaken for annoyance. Well, Keith  _ is _ annoyed, but more because he had been left alone to deal with people when practically everyone in the shop knows how much he hates that. Wait, is this a test?

Keith clears his throat and leans up on his toes to reach over the counter and hit the switch for the bay door. It groans its way up the tracks. “Wanna bring her in? There should be some coffee if you want to sit the waiting room. Area. Thing. While I work.”

“That sounds good. I’ll wheel her in.” That strange expression shows up again when Keith turns back to him.  “You...do you know bikes? I mean, I really should have asked first.” 

Keith glances up from the clipboard he’s grabbed, his gaze flickering over to the bike, and he actually smiles. Now this guy is speaking his language. “Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.” He walks over to where His customer has stopped and put the kickstand down, making a circle around the bike and jotting down some notes. When he’s done, he hands the clipboard over. “Just fill out the top part for the file and I’ll take care of the rest when I’m done.” 

The guy  almost drops the pen. And the clipboard. 

Keith almost asks if he’s all right. 

“Good. I’m glad.” He fills out the information with the well-practiced skill of someone who has filled out too many forms.

Keith can relate. If college isn’t about coffee and constant stress, it’s about paperwork. 

The man’s eyes roam over Keith, as if looking for something specific.  “What’s your name, by the way? So I know who’s working on her.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow at him, something of a knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You mean, so you know who to come after if I mess something up. It’s Keith.”

Shiro crosses his arms and grins. “That too.”

Keith rubs his hands together, peering over the dashboard and then letting his gaze slide appraisingly over the rest of the body. Completely by reflex, as a means of filling the quiet with something other than awkwardness, he starts rattling off random details while he gathers his supplies. The bike’s make and model, the year she was made, judging from little details he’s picked up in his first cursory checks. Keith crouches down, still going on, now with tidbits of information about the brand, certain quirks built in from that launch year. He pauses, getting a closer look at the engine, then pulls back, running his hand from the front down to the tailpipe. 

Keith glances over his shoulder. His customer had not gone to the waiting area thing at all; in fact, he is still standing where Keith left him with the clipboard. Keith’s voice lowers, a little bewildered, hopefully not disrespectful. “And she’s been wrecked.”

The smile that had been on the owner’s face twists slightly like a memory of pain. Keith hadn’t missed the stretch of pink scar tissue across his nose, and suddenly he almost wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. 

“Yeah, couple years back. She was. But I rebuilt her as soon as I was able.” Shiro pats the handlebars. “She deserved that much.” 

Keith blushes, chest tightening a little, embarrassed to have directed the conversation on what is obviously an uncomfortable path. He’s never been in a wreck himself, little more than bumps and bruises to both body and ego when he took a turn too tight, but it’s a concept he has feared since the first time he opened up his bike on the highway. He ducks his head, trying to shoo off a bit of guilt, and focuses on the bike -- and peripherally on the one who owns her. It’s blatantly evident that this was a first hand experience for Shiro. He licks his lips.

The hardest part of any accident, even those as minor as the ones Keith has had, is relearning to trust. Trust that the bike won’t throw again, trust in the rider to handle her well, the trust in every goddamn other thing around both not to intervene. 

“You got back on again.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“You got back on again.”_

It’s the tone that catches Shiro’s attention. Like Keith actually understands what it took to do that, to get back on his bike, to rebuild it rather than get a new one. It makes him look at Keith again, really _look_ \-- and he likes what he sees. Yes, he’s attractive in that pretty way that rarely ends well for Shiro, but Keith’s focus is on the bike. It makes Shiro wonder if he’s not nearly so comfortable with people as he is with machinery. And that is what makes him honest when he answers.

“I had to.” Shiro thinks back to what was left of of his bike after the wreck. Allura hadn’t even let him anywhere near it until he was out of the hospital. He’d been determined to have it repaired by the time he was finished with his physical therapy, making the work his own emotional and mental therapy during his recovery. “I couldn’t give up on her. It would have been like giving up on myself.”

Keith can feel the tips of his ears getting hot, not entirely comfortable with what is obviously an intensely personal admission from the customer he’s just met less than ten minutes ago. At the same time, he _gets_ it. Even without living it, without having any idea what it’s like himself, he does understand. “You did right by her.” _And yourself_ , goes unspoken, but with Keith’s luck, it’s probably stupidly obvious what else he’s implying with what he’s not saying. “Could barely tell, ‘cept I know what to look for.”

“You do seem to know your stuff.” _Oh no. He’s cute._ Distraction. _Wow, his ears are red._ “Thanks.” Conversation. Talking. Words. In the back of his mind, Shiro can just hear Allura simultaneously laughing and facepalming hard enough to leave a handprint. He’s going to have to edit his day for her when he gets home. He glances at Keith again, and then quickly away to the other end of the garage. Yep. Edit it severely.

Though he’d rather not admit it, Keith is keenly aware of just how much distance is between himself and Shiro for most of the time he’s doing the oil change. Luckily, a stolen glance over his shoulder at that point had shown him Shiro was looking at some old flier up on the corkboard instead of him. _Why? That flier’s at least a year and a half old--damn it, that doesn’t go there._ He’s glad to finish and straighten, rolling his shoulders and once more wiping his hands off on the towel before patting the back of the bike.

“She should be ready to fly now,” he says. He walks past Shiro to drop the clipboard on the counter. He’ll put the form away so Shiro’s on file, but he doesn’t bother to ring it up. “On me today. First time discount or something like that.”

“Thank you.” Shiro goes back to his bike and tries not to feel like some quiet bubble has been popped. The words slip out of his mouth before he can think them through too thoroughly. “...Do you have a helmet?”

Keith blinks. “Yeah,” he says, dragging the word out. “I mean, my bike’s in the back, so that’s where-- I mean. Are you asking me because we’re gonna go for a ride?”

“Well, she does need to be taken out for a test drive.” Shiro catches himself before he leans into Keith’s personal space, instead leaning against the bike. “I mean, if you’re interested.” _Please be interested. Please be interested. Because I am very, very interested._

“I…” Keith swallows. People don’t ask him for rides, not the customers and usually not his other classmates. He can’t process the reason why he’d even be asked, but he finds himself turning and heading to the back anyway. “I’ll be right back.”

Shiro busies himself with getting the bike outside and putting on his own helmet. He doesn’t normally do this; in fact, he’s _never_ asked a stranger who wasn’t already into him on a night out to get on his bike. The only other person to join him regularly has been Allura, and even that happens far less frequently these days. It had only been at her own insistence that she’d been on the bike at all since the accident. But that was Allura all over: refusing to let Shiro wallow in self-pity for any reason whatsoever. Right now, she’d be punching him the arm to stop fussing over the bike and just enjoy it.

Shiro looks up when he hears footsteps, and feels the smile happen without his permission. He only hopes it doesn’t look as stupid as it probably does.

Keith glances around at the empty garage. His classmates seem to be gone for good, or at least not headed back there anytime soon, and he decides it’s time for a break. He flips the sign on the door to closed and turns most of the lights out. Shiro is still waiting for him, and Keith doesn’t really let himself dwell on why he thought for a moment he wouldn’t be. When he tries to return the smile -- because that’s what you’re supposed to do when people smile, right? -- it feels weird on his face. “You ready?”

Muscle memory takes over as Shiro mounts the bike, knowing his expression had definitely veered into idiot territory. _It’s just a test drive._ Possibly for more than the bike. “Come on.” He looks back at Keith and shifts slightly forward. “It fits two pretty well.”

Why does that sound so...appealing? Keith has only ever driven a bike, and when he got the insufferable puppy eyes, he sometime let Lance ride on the back to take him to a class on the other side of the campus. But he’s never gotten onto the back of someone else’s bike and let them drive. His hesitation comes from the novelty of it more than anything else. Despite knowing the bike’s been wrecked, he’s not as concerned for himself when he slides up behind-- it occurs to him that he really is tragically awful at this.

“What’s your name?” he asks as he carefully slides his arms around the thick torso before him, wondering what the acceptable amount of tightness to hold on with is.

“Takashi Shirogane. Call me Shiro, pretty much everyone does.” Shiro glances back. “You can hold on tighter. Three of my ribs are titanium now, so they can take it.” Shiro starts the bike to cover any awkwardness that might follow, revving the engine instead of clearing his throat. He’s  used to joking with Allura about the accident, making light of all of it when they can. It’s rare he says this much to strangers, but then again, it’s rare he’s this close to outright flirting either.

Allura would be so proud of him.

“Oh. Okay.” Without missing a beat or finding anything strange with the admission, Keith slides his arms around Shiro further, thinking nothing of his hands tucking into the lapels of Shiro’s jacket. Instead, he’s already wondering which ribs he meant, and whether he could tell which ones just by feel. The same rush of exhilaration hits him when Shiro revs the bike as it would on his own, and he thinks that maybe this won’t be so weird after all. No matter that he’s chest-to-back with a complete stranger, he’s pretty sure he’s going to enjoy this ride.

Shiro takes it slowly, enjoying the warmth at his back. Allura is warm too, but she’s softer, if just as strong. It’s different and surprisingly comfortable. That’s a relief. He takes them away from the campus, up the twisting roads into the hills. There are plenty of places to stop and park the bike, take a few moments to appreciate the beautiful weather and pretty view. Shiro drives on auto-pilot, taking Keith to one of his favorite spots in the low hills. It overlooks the forest preserve on the other side, with few signs of human civilization encroaching. He loves the hill roads with their curves and twists. There’s no intersections to give him a moment’s pause, that flash of anxiety. It’s peaceful and it feels like Shiro can breathe better up here.

When Keith drives, he has to be aware of everything: steering through turns, watching out for traffic, staying aware of his movements. This is such a different feeling for him, holding tight to someone else and trusting he’ll get from point A to point B -- wherever that ends up being -- safe and sound. Somehow, he thinks Shiro will understand that safety more than most, even in the short time they’ve spent together. It leaves him free to settle himself, arms tight around Shiro’s waist, and just _feel_.

Keith rests his head between Shiro’s shoulders and dares to close his eyes. It makes him more aware of the bike, alive and _purring_ beneath him. He becomes intimately aware of every rise and fall, how Shiro leans and guides them through turns. He’s allowed to feel the wind whipping at him, almost wishing the helmet wasn’t there for the pure sensory pleasure of having the wind on his face and in his hair. Even when they stop, his heart races on, Shiro steady against him, carrying him through the sensations of being taken somewhere more than just the stopping point they’ve arrived at.

Shiro pulls off, shuts down the bike and just...breathes. He feels good, Keith’s arms around him feel good, and Shiro just...wants this.

Keith’s eyes open slowly, as if he’s coming out of a dream. He’s not even aware of how his face must look, he just knows he feels good. He’s glad he said yes.

“This is one of my favorite places.” Shiro breaks the quiet, voice soft as pulls off his helmet. “Sometimes I like coming up here and feeling like I’m the only person around.” He’s loath to give up the arms around his waist and Keith’s warmth at his back, so he doesn’t move off the bike yet. “Good job, by the way. She’s running really smooth.”

“Thanks.” Keith’s smile widens without his permission, and he supposes he should move. There’s an unhurried feel to the way he withdraws, reaching up to pull off his own helmet. He gets a really good look around them now, noting how some of the sounds he’s used to hearing are missing. The 24-7 life of the campus and sounds of distant traffic he’s been living around are washed away by this pocket of quiet carved into the hills. “That was a good ride. Nice to know I’ll get one more when we go back.”

“Glad you enjoyed it.” Dismounting the bike reluctantly, Shiro sets his helmet over one of the handlebars. Then he stretches, feeling the pull of muscles along his back and thighs, now that he’s no longer leaning forward over the front of the bike. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, takes a deep breath and revels in the warmth of the sunlight on his face, the way even with his eyes closed, he can feel the shadows of the trees shifting in the soft breeze. He can hear the quiet rustle of cloth when Keith shifts on the bike, and it warms him far more than the skin-deep feeling of the sun. It’s a connection, one that feels so natural it surprises him.

Eyes still closed, he tilts his head in Keith’s direction. “There’s a diner a bit further up if you’re hungry. They’ve got great burgers. And the milkshakes are amazing.” Shiro wants to get to know him, wants to see if this attraction could actually go anywhere, or if Allura is going to declare that she washes her hands of him the way she does when he doesn’t follow up with numbers on napkins.

“Yeah, food is good.” It’s a motto that pretty much ensures Keith and Lance will survive being roommates. At their worst times, Lance stalking to the kitchen loudly proclaiming ‘I’M MAKING EMPANADAS’ has been a lifesaver. So has the all-night cafe on campus. Keith is no stranger to the comforts of food, and doesn’t really mind the idea of sitting down with someone he just met to have dinner. That thought should be a little more perplexing than it is in the moment, but he can blame that on his surroundings or the bike or something. He takes a moment to watch Shiro with an unexpected focus before taking a few strides up the hill and flopping down onto the grass, stretching out to enjoy the early evening sun as well. “So’s this.”

Shiro stretches one more time before ambling over to where Keith is flopped out. “It is, isn’t it?” The grass is soft, dotted with clover and whatever those little purple flowers are. He settles on the ground, bracing himself on his elbows and watches the dance of the leaves. It’s strangely not too awkward as they lie there on the grass in silence. There’s the occasional bird call, the susurrus of leaves like waves, and Shiro closes his eyes again, feeling something deep inside him uncoil and relax.

He’s almost dozing by the time the light shifts, red and gold and orange filling the sky. Shiro sits up, rests his chin on his knee and watches the sunset in all its glory. It isn’t until purple is spilling over the few clouds that he turns to smile at Keith. “You hungry?”

“Yeah.” There’s a drawl to Keith’s voice, somewhere between sleepy and wondering. It’s as if being hungry means something other than wanting to go get food. He’s relaxed, that much is evident in the languid way he’s been hugging his knees to his chest to watch the sunset with Shiro.

The way he looks over says ‘thank you’ far more easily than the effort of getting it past his lips. There’s nothing for his voice to catch on, nothing that gets in the way of that look. Keith catches himself smiling again, and suddenly realizes he’s been staring at Shiro’s jaw, the shape of his eyes, his mouth when he talks. His ears start to get hot again, and he clears his throat. “I mean, if you’re ready to go. There’s no rush.”

Shiro shrugs. “No hurry.” And it’s the truth. He feels like he could sit there with Keith for the rest of the night. He watches-- _they_ watch the moon rise together and the sky reveal a carpet of stars polished to twinkling just for them. (He can just hear Allura groaning at the thought.) The sound of Keith’s stomach a few minutes later gets a little laugh out of him. “So, about that food…”

Keith presses a hand to his belly as if that will quiet it down, but the damage has already been done. He gets up and stifles a yawn. “I’m going to eat all of it,” he replies with a chuckle. He heads back to the bike and plops his helmet on, turning expectantly to Shiro.

Shiro’s stomach flips over, and he’s glad it’s dark enough that Keith can’t see the flush on his cheeks. There’s something about the sight of Keith waiting expectantly by his bike that gives him that warm feeling again, the sense that this could be really, really good. Like this could be a _thing_ , the two of them going on rides and having dinner together. Keith has to be more talkative at dinner, because Shiro needs to know everything about him -- so that he knows if this will work, if it’s finally time to try.


	3. Chapter 3

Shiro’s helmet goes back on and that firm grip slides around his waist, Shiro starts up the bike, headlight almost blinding after the the moonlight. He brings his thoughts back into focus and heads back to the road and the diner, unwilling to chance anything even resembling inattention when he has a passenger. As soon as he’s parked, however, the thoughts are back and he takes a couple careful breaths to bring them into order. There is no point in trying for more if they can’t be friends because Shiro doesn’t do casual hook-ups. This is probably why he’s still on good terms with all of his exes, they’ve all been friends first. 

He holds the door open for Keith out of habit, still lost in his thoughts. Time to see if they can be friends. Anything else will have to wait. Besides, he’s getting ahead of himself. Who says Keith is even interested in the first place? “Two, booth is fine.” He turns to Keith. “That’s fine, right? Sorry, forgot to ask.”

“Yeah, it’s great.” 

It’s not as flippant as it may sound; Keith will always ask for a booth instead of a table, and his chances of actually enjoying the meal are directly proportional to his ability to get one. Tables in restaurants feel more open and exposed, more susceptible to people bumping his chair or being at the dead center of the general hum of crowds. At least in a booth, he can devour half his weight in food in relative peace, still aware of the noise level, but not as exposed. He waits for Shiro to pick the side he wants to sit on before sliding in across from him. He’s quick to grab a menu and start looking over the contents. “Shakes are good, you said, right? I think I want strawberry. What are you getting?”

“Definitely a burger and fries, possibly a salad, their chicken caesar is good, possibly cheese sticks and…” Shiro thinks about it. “I think a chocolate malt.” He leans back in his seat. “They’ve got good pies too. Anything fried here is amazing.” He rubs his fingers together at the edge of the table, remembering Allura’s face the first time she heard him order. “I’ve tried pretty much everything here, so feel free to ask if you’re having trouble deciding.”

“All in one go?” Keith dares to tease after listening to the list. Not that he’s any better. “At this rate, we might as well get one of all the appetizers and three burgers. One for each of us and a half, just in case.”

Shiro blinks. “That’s…not a bad plan.” He laughs. “Sorry, I’m used to people being a little” a pause “surprised.” A shrug. “I really don’t know why, apparently I look like I eat healthy or something.” He eyes Keith. “You probably have one of those high-burning metabolisms, right?” He’s not going to say he’s pretty sure about that based on feeling the muscle in Keith’s arms and the stolen glance as he leaned over the counter earlier. Also, Keith hadn’t even flinched from his list of food. Shiro kind of hopes that he keeps not flinching.

Keith quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah, something like that. And you can’t be completely oblivious to why people would think you’re healthy. Look at you.” He gestures over at Shiro vaguely, a whole picture kind of motion. “You actually look like you could bench press your bike as easily as you can ride it. It’s really no wonder.”

Shiro feels a blush spread across his cheeks and is all too grateful when their waitress sidles up to take their order. He’s enough of a regular here that she doesn’t even blink at their order, just smiles and pats his shoulder as she assures them ‘just a sec there, honey!’ before she puts their order in. It leaves him bemused every time it happens and he just shakes his head before returning his attention to Keith. “So I’m curious, are you going for engineering track or is the garage just more of a hobby turned paying job?”

“Not sure I’ve got the focus for the engineering track, honestly,” Keith replies, folding his arms on the table and leaning in a little, getting comfortable in the booth. “I just like rebuilding things. Always have. Of all the things in the world that need fixing, machines seem like the least complicated.” He’s quick to add, “Not that it’s  _ easy _ , but I mean it’s just. Easier for me, I guess.” He tilts his head. “You must know something of what that’s like if you rebuilt your bike after a bad wreck. Some people just  _ get it _ .”

Shiro can definitely see how Keith might be more comfortable with machines than people. “Yeah, I think I get it. Some people like to take things apart and others like to rebuild them.” He shrugs. “People are complicated in a completely different way than machines.” The air feels heavy and he’s not sure that Keith is, well, comfortable enough for it to veer into that sort of metaphysical talk just yet. “Of course, the fact that engines are fun has nothing to do with it, I’m sure.”

“Oh, nothing at all,” he waves it off casually, but his thoughts linger on the path Shiro didn’t follow for just a moment. He wonders about how people are rebuilt. He’s never really thought of himself as a person that ever needed it, but maybe.. After all, a wreck is so devastating, anything he’s ever seen about them has proven that. Shiro, like his bike, probably had to be rebuilt after the accident. The three titanium ribs and the pink scar across his nose tell Keith that much. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t pursued that topic, Keith can only guess it’s still painful sometimes. “You must be in a completely different study program. I feel like I would have seen you before now otherwise.”

“Astrophysics, actually. Graduate studies.”

Keith blinks, tilting his head in a somewhat feline way while he processes four words that say a lot about the guy across from him. The pause in his response comes from the way synapses fire trying to marry up what he’s already learned about Shiro and this new information. The union goes far smoother than expected, especially when he remembers about twenty minutes ago, they were on a hill watching the moon rise. There goes that uncalled-for smile again. “So now I know not to argue with you about math, got it.”

Shiro blinks. And smiles.  _ Well, that’s a new one. _ “Probably a good idea. Not that I won’t be nice about it, but I will elaborate on all of the many ways you are wrong, possibly including a powerpoint presentation. I have several.” It’s too easy to talk to Keith, like they’re already friends and that’s just so...new to Shiro. “But really, I’m a much bigger space nerd than math nerd, it just takes the math to get into space and that’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

Keith makes a face. “I bribe my roommate to make my powerpoint presentations. Him not letting me live it down for a week after finals is the price  _ I’m _ willing to pay.” To say nothing of the times he’s corrected Lance’s grammar in a literature essay or stopped him from giving his honest opinion about an author taking ten pages to describe a patch of wallpaper. It generally works well when they can stop themselves from getting offended by good ol’ fashioned constructive criticism. 

_ Roommate _ . “So you live in the dorms?” It feels like he’s threading his way through the conversation he would have had with anyone else, but Shiro doesn’t want to push. He just wants to know. 

“Yeah, my old place was too far to commute, even with the bike. I wish every day of my life that I could have been placed in a single. And I guess I always thought it was the ‘college thing’ to live in the dorms to become ‘independent’.” He air quotes with his fingers and a roll of his eyes. Independence is something he’s no stranger to.

Shiro remembers when Allura told him in no uncertain terms that he was moving in with her and her father and that was that. “I never really did the dorm thing myself, I live off-campus. But I do have a roommate. She occasionally drives me crazy, but she’s always been there for me.”  _ Allura’s face when he opened his eyes in the hospital, the tears on her cheeks, eyes red-rimmed. _ He realizes he’s doing the finger rubbing thing again and places his hand carefully flat on the table, the melamine cool under his fingers where he can still feel it and weirdly numb where he can’t. “It was a bit weird getting used to living with people after being on my own for a while.” Not that Shiro had had a choice, his ratty apartment at the time had been very badly set up for a man in a wheelchair that couldn’t use one of his arms yet. 

“Tell me about it.” Keith’s eyes flicker to the movement, then back up to Shiro’s face, catching the distant look on his face. He said it had been a while, but Keith gets the sense that the accident is a living thing he can’t help but think about every day. It makes him feel like he wants to know more about it, but at the same time steer far away from it so he doesn’t make Shiro uncomfortable. “Mine definitely drives me crazy. He’s loud and always talks with his hands and thinks he’s always right. It’s a pain.” 

Their appetizers arrive while Shiro is laughing and a good few minutes are spent in properly appreciating tasty fried things. “It’s a roommate thing, the crazy-making, I think.” He takes a long sip of his malt, the chocolate comforting and familiar. “Also, I told you everything fried here is amazing.” Another sip, trying not to stare at Keith’s lips wrapped around his straw. “How’s the shake?”

“It's great. You know it's good when it actually tastes like strawberries instead of a glass of chemicals and ice cream.” He cranes his head to peer around the side of his glass. “There are actually strawberries in this thing aren't there? Huh.” He goes back to nursing the straw, draining half of it before he starts going after all the food in front of him. 

“They make everything fresh here, that’s why it’s so good.” Shiro licks his lips, thoughts moving through molasses. “They’re one of the few places that actually uses real malt powder too.” It’s a bad idea, but Shiro can hear the Allura voice in his head cheering him on as the words leave his mouth. “Would you like to try it?” He tilts the glass towards Keith.

It's too easy. 

Keith is already leaning forward. “Sure.” And there he is, putting his mouth around Shiro's straw and taking a pretty long drink. Shiro gets treated to Keith stretched over the table -- just like the counter -- seeing his throat work and his eyes closed in the concentration of savoring something good. “Okay,” Keith agrees, pulling back and licking his lips. “That was good.”

_ Oh. My. God. _ “Uh huh.” Shiro takes his drink back, automatically putting his lips on the straw and almost groans as he tastes strawberries. From Keith’s lips. On his straw. Like one of those stupid indirect kiss things and oh god, no, he can feel his entire face going red. “Sometimes I get vanilla, but chocolate is my favorite.” He can feel the urge to just keep talking, talk through the fluster, and forces himself to take a deep breath. And take another sip of his malt. He swears he can taste strawberry. 

“I think I've just found my new favorite place to be.” Keith has a wicked grin on his face now, already making a sizeable dent in the piles of appetizers. 

Shiro wants to believe that Keith is talking about being here, with him, but he’s depressingly certain it’s being here, with all of this amazing food. Not that he can blame him, it’s good, like always, and Shiro buries his concerns to appreciate melted cheese and somehow perfectly cooked breaded vegetables. When they finish their feeding frenzy, Shiro starts stacking plates for the waitress, long habit from the few things he remembers clearly from his childhood. 

His mother had always appreciated the customers that did that when she worked long hours at the little corner restaurant and he’d watched her from the corner booth by the kitchen where she’d sit him after school. He remembers her deftly setting those stacks on a tray, the way the tendons in her wrist would flex, the wiry muscles of her arms as she lifted the tray and carefully walked back to the kitchen. As a child, he’d never noticed the lines of pain, but he always thought his mother looked tired. And beautiful, even with her hair straggling down from her bun and into her eyes at the end of the night. She’d been so strong and even tired, she’d hugged him tightly and made sure he had everything before they walked home after her shift was over.

Keith isn’t oblivious to the way Shiro’s eyes go distant, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s said something wrong, but a quick review of the last several minutes conjures up nothing of the sort. That he knows of. “Hey,” he says quietly, a little hesitantly because he doesn’t know if he’s helping or intruding. He reaches out and touches the hand at the edge of the table, the one that’s been fidgeting off and on since they got there. “You all right, Shiro?”

Keith’s fingers could have been electrified with the way that little touch shocks Shiro out of his reminiscing. His eyes are wide when he looks at him. “Uh, yeah. Just...thinking.”  _ He’s touching my hand! _ The fingers under Keith’s twitch, but he refuses to move his hand. If he does, Shiro’s pretty sure Keith will feel some of the lines of scar tissue under the fingerless glove that covers most of his hand. It’s hardly the worst of it, but Shiro has had a lot of dates end at that point because he deserves better than someone who flinches from just that. “My mom worked in a diner like this,” he offers, needing to break the silence and give some excuse for his thoughts wandering.

“Oh, okay.” There’s something like relief on Keith’s face, and he doesn’t know if he should pull back now that there isn’t really anything wrong or if that would be too sudden or if he was staying  _ too _ long. He wishes he hadn’t listened to Lance go on and on about social cues and interacting with people. The way Lance views the world would have Keith very uncomfortably in everyone’s personal space dropping cheesy puns and even cheesier pickup lines. Keith knows how much  _ he _ hates it, but Shiro doesn’t seem to mind the contact. There’s a  _ past tense _ feel to those words, and he carefully acknowledges it. “It’s hard work for not a lot of money.” He shrugs and finally pulls back under the pretense of going for his shake. “I bussed tables before I got into the shop program.”

Shiro smiles, imagining Keith in one of those aprons, desperately hoping no one tries to talk to him so he can just do his work and get out. “I have a feeling the garage is a better situation for you.” He teases gently, trying to get a feel for the boundaries he has to work with here. Allura doesn’t have any, so it always seems better to err on the side of caution with anyone else. His fingers are tingling a little. Shiro rubs them together and can’t help thinking they have some residual warmth from Keith’s.


	4. Chapter 4

They talk for hours. 

Topics range from where Keith found his first bike and fixed it up to when Shiro first met Allura in an alley fight. It’s ridiculous how simple it all seems, how easy, considering that’s probably the longest Keith has ever talked to a person in his life. Even Lance, and he’s been living with Lance for nearly a year. They switch from burgers and shakes to coffee and pie. The time passes in exchanges that share the little tidbits of life and experience often found hidden in the late hours of a simple diner. Shiro says something about one of his more exciting physics presentations, and Keith reaches out to grab his hand excitedly, questions pouring out of his mouth. This time, when he moves to pull away, Shiro dares to close his fingers around Keith’s and hold on. It’s tight enough to feel the differences in texture between scarred skin and unmarked skin. 

Keith doesn’t flinch.

They pout when they notice the crowds becoming thinner and thinner. One of the busboys trades his dish bin for a mop and starts working on the parts of the diner that have already been vacated. They both know they should pay their bill and go, but neither of them really want to. Their waitress has left the check with them after their second pieces of pie, and it’s sat for the longest time while she keeps refilling their coffee. They forget about it often throughout the conversation.

Finally, Shiro takes it, and before Keith can even dig for his wallet, Shiro walks up to the front counter and pays it. It’s highly likely he’s leaving a generous tip on his card, especially after times he’s mentioned his mom while they talked, but Keith still drops more cash on the table and slides out of the booth. He looks at their empty coffee cups and finds himself thinking,  _ just one more… _

Keith holds on a little tighter as they drive back towards town and the campus. There isn’t much talk on the ride. Only the bike’s radio playing classic rock and Keith occasionally giving Shiro directions to his dorm building. He hates that he’s going home, but when they arrive, Shiro is actually old fashioned enough to walk him to the door. It’s absurd how nice that makes Keith feel, but also with the realistic bitter aftertaste of prolonging the inevitable.

For the first time in a very long time, Keith really doesn’t want an experience to end. The whole thing had been surreal, something that only happens in rom coms and sappy romantic after-school specials. Not that he's had much experience with those either, but goodness knows Lance has droned on and on about his favorites. Here and now, standing with Shiro on the front stoop of his dorm building, he really doesn't want it to end. And yet, he also doesn't know how to make it continue. He feels like there should be something more.  _ A good night kiss _ rings in his head, suspiciously sounding like Lance. But those don’t really happen on the first date, right? You don't just see a person and _ fall _ . Keith would never have believed that before this day had happened to him.

And there's this crazy sort of logic to the whole thing. If something like this can happen to him, if this really is  _ real _ , then maybe there is nothing wrong with a kiss or a hug, even though those things were practically a foreign concept to him. He still wants to know if the potential he feels here and now is really there, if this really is the first that will turn into the second. It doesn't have to be a big deal, he tells himself. He can have something nice without it too much expectation attached to it, without him having to worry about messing it up. Shiro had smiled when he touched his hand, looked every bit as lost with this new experience as Keith felt. Maybe after tonight, Shiro would never come back into the shop. 

Or maybe they could fumble through this together.

What are the right words? "I had a really nice time tonight." Lance will laugh his head off if he finds out. But it's the truth, and Keith has never gotten the hang of lying. He actually hates it.

Shiro smiles, and it's warm, like every other time he's smiled since he first walked in with that bike. "So did I. Maybe we'll go for another ride soon."

"I...I'd like that." Why is that so hard to say? It's like giving over a piece of himself, a thing that Keith treasures more than he lets on. But that's also not a lie. He would ride with Shiro again, and it really doesn't matter where they go. He's more than willing to get back on.

They stand awkwardly for another space of time. Shiro starts to turn away, head back to his bike. As if Keith needs to counter the steps, like being in a fight, he steps to the side and puts his body in front of Shiro's to block him from getting away so quickly. Shiro's eyes widen slightly, and his mouth opens.

Keith beats him to anything he could have said. He darts forward, and leans in to kiss the corner of Shiro's mouth. While Shiro stands there in utter shock, Keith rolls back on the balls of his feet -- he's only just realized he had to lean up on his toes to reach Shiro's mouth. Heat creeps up into his face. Seconds later, Shiro gathers him up in his arms, and holds him in a tight embrace. The suddenness of it makes Keith hold perfectly still at first, almost as if he's expecting something to hurt, but the only discomfort comes from how tightly Shiro is holding him, and even then, it's not that uncomfortable at all. Keith leans into it, and suddenly it's that much nicer to feel Shiro's strong arms around him. He cranes his head up a little again, and that's when Shiro kisses him again, full on the lips, insistent but yet somehow gentle for all the emotion in it.

"Thank you," Shiro whispers. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Y-yeah." Keith is dazed, his lips are tingling. No, all of him is tingling. It's absurd and worse than any stupid romantic shit Lance could drone on  about. it feels amazing, and he wishes he could hold onto it.

But there he is, letting Shiro go for real this time. Paused on the doorstep and shaking ever so slightly in anticipation. This could be something really good, he tells himself, while battling the fear that Shiro is just another that will walk away from him and stay away for good. Somehow, he thinks he knows better, even when he has only just begun to know who Shiro is. He's hungry for more. More kisses, more of the feel of wind in his hair holding tight to stay on, more conversations over more food than anyone should eat in one sitting. he wants it, craves it, and he wants to believe he can have it again. In open-mouthed silence, he heads back into his dorm.

~*~

"There you are," Allura calls cheerfully from the den.

Shiro pauses to hang his coat in the hall closet and leaves his shoes by the door. "Honey, I'm home."

"And just where have you been all evening?" She pads into the foyer on bare feet, already dressed down in comfy clothes for the night, her hair braided over her shoulder. She peers at him suspiciously. "it's not like you to miss dinner."

"It is when you're cooking," he teases her, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Heartless thing to say to the girl you stood up."

"You'll get over it." He brushes past her to head into the kitchen and pull a bottle of beer from the fridge. He spots a leftover pizza box on the top shelf and chuckles to himself. She had been far from defenseless while he was gone. They are pretty good at fending for themselves by now.

"So are you going to tell me?"

"I met someone. When I took my bike in for an oil change."

Allura perks up immediately, and she’s suddenly very interested in more than just teasing him about dinner plans. She darts around behind him and pushed him towards one of the kitchen stools. "Tell me all about it."

Shiro regales her with the story of meeting Keith between thoughtful sips of his drink. He probably looks ridiculous, starry eyed and fond while he talks about the guy he's only just met and he thinks he's fallen for very hard. Meteor crash hard. He doesn't realize he's paused, the top of the bottle tapping anxiously against his lips while he tries to gather his thoughts. He's thinking about the diner, the way Keith had held onto his hand without reservation. The way he smiled like he didn't really know how to do it well, but wanted to try for Shiro.

Though Allura had teased him several times throughout the story, his fall into silence had her softening her tone and expression, giving him some space. But when the quiet stretched on too long, she reached out and touched his shoulder. "Shiro?"

"Sorry, I was just... You know, it's funny. He didn't even flinch. You know, at the scars."

Her gaze immediately flickers down to his gloved hand, then back up to his face. She doesn't say anything, but her protective instincts try to kick in. She doesn't want this to hurt him later, like so many others have.

"He didn't even flinch," Shiro repeated, and all of that wonder was back in his voice. "I want to see him again."

Allura resists the urge to frown, instead trying to carry the torch of hope he's obviously trying to light back there behind his thoughtful eyes. "Did you get his number?"

The moment is suddenly broken, and Shiro bursts out into laughter. "I forgot."

"Are you  _ serious _ ?!" she sputters. "After all this time, have you learned nothing from me?"

"I've learned a lot of things, Allura. But I guess I was too busy thinking about kissing him that I wasn't even thinking about my phone."

Allura's jaw drops, but she shakes her head a moment later. "You ridiculous man. How are you going to ask him out on a date."

"I think I know where I can find him," he replies, mirth still thick in his tone. Maybe this is something he can pursue, maybe Keith will be able to look at him with the same unflinching manner with which he'd taken Shiro's hand tonight. Maybe it had been worth trying again, going back to. It could be something he needs and nearly everything he wants. 

Shiro is going to try.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell about Sheith and Voltron on [tumblr](paladinpuppypile.tumblr.com)!


End file.
